


YELLOW, UH OH!

by starsnatched (orphan_account)



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: But they take on Yuta's appearance, Character Death, Character Study, Demons, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Married Couple, Mentioned Liu Yang Yang, Might add more tags, Minor Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun, Relationship Study, Religion, Sicheng and Yuta were married, Unnamed Fallen Angel - Freeform, Xiaojun uses they/them pronouns, You'll understand if you read heh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starsnatched
Summary: “You know what to do,” They laugh, leaning back into their throne. The Fallen Angel crosses their legs, and when they clasp their hands together, Sicheng can see claws. “Dance for me. No— dance forYuta. Dance for us, why won’t you?”
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta
Kudos: 12





	YELLOW, UH OH!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take a little break from writing my Yujae A/B/O series, and my solution was writing this little one shot. I wanted to give this a sad, twisted vibe. Hopefully, I was able to portray it that way. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think by leaving a comment! It'd help a lot when it comes to writing with quality.

Sicheng throws the yellow ball at the wall; it bounces back to him. He chucks it again with all his strength; the ball ricochets around the room a few times before rolling onto the ground and bumping the man’s leg.

How he wishes that the ball was a bullet. How he yearns for the ability to turn a meaningless object into a deadly weapon. Too bad that ability is limited only to the demons; it is something a human soul does not deserve.

How he desires, more than ever, to leave Hell.

“Sicheng-sshi,” A rough voice smoothened with silk floats around the room and settles into his mind. When the ravenet turns, there is a man standing there— or at least, what _seems_ to be a man. Sicheng knows that even though this man looks gorgeous, it’s a mere mask, a pure facade. No doubt _they_ had the demons look as such, probably to not scare him; though, being in Hell for so long, it’s difficult to be frightened. “The master has called for you.”

The human stands up and he follows the demon out of his room. They walk on a royal red carpet, past paintings that intricately detail the Fallen Angel being cast away from paradise above and making a new home in Hell. How the Angel had become something completely opposite.

“What’s your name?” Sicheng asks the demon leading him along. They scoff, seeing no reason to tell their name to a mere human. But, they suppose, they could indulge this measly soul; the master favored Sicheng so, after all. 

“You cannot handle my true name, mortal,” The demon muses, raising a clawed hand. The nails catch the bright light of the chandeliers and glint. “But you may refer to me as Xiaojun.”

“Is that the name of the last human you dragged down here?” Sicheng asks. “Are you taking the face of the last soul you stole?” 

‘Xiaojun’ doesn’t answer, but they shoot a smile full of sharp teeth and mischief, and the human knows he has gotten his answer. The demon instead says, “We are nearing my lord’s presence.”

When the soft padding of the hallway carpet turns into the hard marble floor of the throne room, Sicheng’s gaze shifts to the floor. He watches how the demon’s feet move one after the other, until they suddenly stop. The ravenet halts too, behind the demon escort, and he bows deeply in sync with Xiaojun.

“My lord,” The demon says as they straighten up. “I have brought the dancer, as requested.”

There was a hum of approval, and a voice filled with thorns but sweetened with honey pierces through the room, “You may go.”

The human watches how, based on the leg movement, Xiaojun bows once more and turns to leave. Their shoes slightly click against the marble and the sound of it recedes ever so slowly, until they’re completely gone. 

“You may look.”

Sicheng’s eyes do so, albeit slowly. The first thing he sees after the shiny, marble floor are yellow flowers. They’re rooted on the floor, crawling on the walls, even reaching the ceiling. Marigolds, rhododendrons, tansies… There are too many yellows that it hurts. Sicheng does a double take. _Could it be—?_

“Happy birthday.” The Fallen Angel purrs, wearing the face of the human’s husband. Despite looking like the spitting image of his lover, there’s no denying the yellow eyes or the evil residing in them; they didn’t even bother to hide the ram’s horns that protrude from their skull. The flowers had also overtaken the throne they sit on, blooms surrounding the Fallen Angel. Above them, their wings are hammered above their throne— all six wings, displayed like a trophy; is it so different from a deer’s head?

“How long has it been?” All Sicheng can do is ask. “Does my Yuta really look like that now? Is it really today?”

“Two years on Earth, since your passing,” The Fallen Angel muses, fixing their crown that sits on top of the blonde hair. Their body is dressed in a plain black suit, but their feet are adorned with blood-red heels. The ravenet notes how their voice gradually shifts from their default, bristly but sweet voice to the one that Sicheng loves so much— his husband’s. “But it has been 400 years here, in our home.”

 _Our home_. The words being spoken by Yuta’s voice leave a sour taste in the human’s mouth and a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“You know what to do,” They laugh, leaning back into their throne. The Fallen Angel crosses their legs, and when they clasp their hands together, Sicheng can see claws. “Dance for me. No— dance for _Yuta_. Dance for us, why won’t you?”

A cello starts to play, the notes drifting about in the large throne room. On instinct, the human’s feet are poised in a turnout, and he eventually moves to the music. 

As Sicheng moves gracefully across the room, his mind drifts. He wonders how his husband is doing, how the world has moved on. He reminisces the days when he was still alive, before he met the Fallen Angel— the peaceful days.

_“What is it, human?” The Fallen Angel stretches nonchalantly in the summoning circle, arms fluidly moving through the air. Their hair is short and black,covering their ears— if they even had any— and ram horns twist around their face. They have no facial features, save for a mouth that stretches to their cheeks, a smile full of sharp fangs and evil. “You’re not the only one who has tried to summon me. I’m very busy, you know.”_

_“If that is so,” Sicheng swallows. He had no idea it would work. He shakes the book he holds in his hands, as if it’s hard to hold it any longer. “Then why did you come?”_

_“I can sense your determination. Oh yes, I can smell it from here,” The Fallen Angel purrs, their red heels teasingly clicking against the floor, against the barrier the Chinese man has set up. “You are willing to give up your soul for something, aren’t you? So tell me your desire— as of now, think of me not as the devil, but as a god.”_

_“I—” The ravenet gulps as he slowly sets the ancient summoning book down, hands clammy. His voice is shaky and it cracks, but he still says, “Make me a successful ballerino. I want to be wealthy and to live a good life.”_

The cello is accompanied by a violin and viola, the stringed instruments complimenting each other.

_“Do you want to be specific about this?” The Fallen Angel coos, and even though they don’t have eyes, Sicheng knows that they’re mocking him. “It could prove… crucial otherwise.”_

_“Don’t hurt my husband,” The Chinese man automatically says. “Don’t harm Yuta.”_

_“Is that all?”_

_“I want—” Sicheng’s brain to mouth filter is off; all he knows is Yuta, the light of his life, his number one supporter. The Japanese man had always been so understanding, always there whenever his husband was slowly but surely being crushed from the demands of the ballet industry; he was only a corps de ballet, and while the salary would be good, Sicheng rarely got the opportunity to perform. It’s a struggle to live life when you’re constantly worrying whether you’ll have enough money to eat next week. “I want Yuta to live a happy life too.”_

_“Is that it?” The Fallen Angel yawns, seemingly bored. They turn ever so slowly, back starting to face the ravenet like a waning moon. “This is all so very dull— for a human, you’re very drab. I don’t think you desire your dream after all, if this is the extent of it.”_

_“W-wait!” The man reaches a hand out, panic speeding up his heart. He needs to appease them somehow, try to satisfy them. There’s only one way. “I have one more request.”_

_The Fallen Angel doesn’t say anything, but stops moving. Sicheng takes it as a sign to continue, “I-I want… if it’s possible… I want to see Yuta even once I’m dead. I want to… even if it’s just once a year, or every ten years, or every one hundred years! I… I don’t care how you can do it, I just want... to see my husband.”_

A piano’s melody joins the fray, trickling along.

_“Hmmm…” The Fallen Angel hums, turning to face Sicheng again. Their hand is poised on their chin, and their mouth is twisted in a frown; it’s almost comical, if they weren’t so malicious. “Every year… dead… see husband… interesting.”_

_The Fallen Angel brings their hands together and clasps them as if in prayer as fire bursts all around them. They bring their hands apart, and a parchment of paper unfurls in between. The words appear in cursive, and when the paper is completely unrolled, it lands softly in Sicheng’s hands. With a snap of their finger, a fountain pen amidst the flames and it rolls down along the paper, to land in the Chinese man’s palm._

_“I shall grant your desire to be a successful dancer, but only if you sign the contract,” They purr, pleased. “I shall also allow your husband to live a prosperous life until the day he dies, and for you to see your husband once a year, on the day of your birth. But all of this will come with some costs— your soul shall become mine, and the day of your death becomes significantly closer, leading to a shorter life. You are aware of that, yes?”_

_“Yes,” Sicheng’s hand shakes as he raises the pen against the paper. His hand feels heavy, and he feels sweat drip his brow. “I know that.”_

_His eyes only briefly scan over the paper— a decision that he would regret— before moving his hand to where he would sign his signature. Sicheng hesitates, and the Fallen Angel sees._

_Their whisper drifts, full of promises and temptation. “What are you waiting for? Sign it, and your wish shall become true.”_

_“This is for Yuta and I,” The man says, more to himself as he slowly but surely signs his name on the contract. The writing itself is wobbly, but it's there nonetheless. He drops the pen and lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he sees his signature, a deal with the devil made. “This is for us to live a happy life.”  
_

_“And you shall have it,” The Fallen Angel’s smile is wide with glee as the pen bursts into flames and the paper violently furls back into their clawed hands. They take the contract and devour it whole, the fire surrounding them burning brighter than ever. “I will come to collect my end of the bargain one day.”_

__

_When Sicheng blinks, the Fallen Angel is gone— no flames, and with no goodbye; only an ominous promise._

_The man drops to the floor, breathing heavily. He feels fear creep up on him, enveloping him and never letting go. “It wasn’t so bad,” He tells himself. “It went better than I thought.”_

_He went home to Yuta, and spent the night as normal as he could. In the bathroom, he stares at his hands. These were the hands that made the deal with the devil, these were the ones that willingly signed away Sicheng’s soul. But this is all for him and his husband to live well; for Yuta, anything is worth it._

_The next day, he’s suddenly given the position of a soloist. He accepts it with grace._

“You are making mistakes,” The Fallen Angel muses when Sicheng falters slightly. “Are you not satisfied? Yuta is here.”

“You’re not Yuta,” The man spits as he stops dancing, as he drops the pretense. The instruments are still playing their song, but the Fallen Angel applauds him with glee. Wearing Yuta’s face, their smile is twisted and venomous. “You could never be him.”

“We’re just following the contract,” They laugh, plucking a rhododendron from their throne and ripping the stem off with their sharp teeth, eating it. The Fallen Angel lets the flower drift from his hand to land on the floor, a few feet away from Sicheng. “Are we not?”

“You tricked me. This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to see Yuta, and you know it.”

The Fallen Angel lets out a series of ‘tsk’s, shaking their head and wagging their finger as if they’re talking to a sulking child. “I told you to specify your desire, didn’t I? I even let you read the contract before signing it; so tell me, whose fault is that?”

Sicheng doesn’t answer, but he balls his hands into tight fists. His hatred for the Fallen Angel grows, and they laugh at him with Yuta’s voice. They beckon the human over with a single claw, accompanied with a single command, “Come.”

Even if the ravenet wants to disobey, he physically can’t— he’s bound by the contract, his entire being is not his own anymore. He closes the distance with long, elegant strides until he’s walking up a short set of stairs and standing on the platform before the throne, bowing once more. Behind him, the music slowly fades away.  


“I shall entertain you then, my little ballerino,” The Fallen Angel coos, gets up from their throne. Sicheng is surprised when they kneel, taking the human’s hand. They bring it to their lips, leaving a kiss. The Fallen Angel looks up and smiles, and Sicheng’s heart stutters; for a moment, they really looked like his husband— no malice, no tricks. “Is this how he did it before?”

The words break the spell, and the human doesn’t hesitate to slap ‘Yuta’ across the face, putting some distance between them. They shriek with laughter, throwing their head back so that their crown tumbles into the flowers. Sicheng sees redness on the Fallen’s Angel cheek, but they just smirk and swipe a hand above it to reveal nothing— the handprint had magically disappeared. 

“Now, don’t be like that,” They say, standing up and picking two marigolds from their throne. The Fallen Angel tucks back their blonde hair, and places one of the flowers behind their ear. They do the same to the ravenet— pushing the black hair away from Sicheng’s face and placing the other stem that holds marigold. “As my little dancer, it’s only natural to want my doll to look pretty.”

The Chinese man says nothing, but his heart simmers with rage. He hates the Fallen Angel, he loathes how they toy with his feelings— being forced to dance for them, wearing the face of his husband so readily, overflowing the throne room with Yuta’s favorite color? This has to be worse than death itself. 

Night after night, he fantasizes about how he would put an end to the Fallen Angel. Will they curse at the sight of holy objects? They’re fallen after all; but wait, they were an angel before, so will they shrink away if he spits damned words? 

Sicheng wonders how he would bring the Fallen Angel down even lower than before. He dreams about standing over them triumphantly, breaking their crown apart, tearing the angel wings down from the wall. Tearing the _fucking_ yellow flowers from their roots, destroying every tainted memory. 

But alas, he could not. He is a but a little plaything, after all. 

“And just like that, night has fallen. On the land of the living, I mean. Silly me, I forgot that there’s no day or night here!” The Fallen Angel exclaims, sitting back on their throne. They cross their legs and clap. Their yellow eyes brim with twisted glee. “Bravo, bravo, little Sicheng! Thank you for the performance.”

Sicheng bows, because that’s really all he can do— follow their deal, down to the letter.

The Fallen Angel taps one of their feet, making the heel click on the floor. The human doesn’t look back, but he knows Xiaojun is behind them, standing before the throne. He burns holes into the yellow eyes with his own gaze, making his hatred clear. The Fallen Angel just leans back in their throne, still wearing the face of Yuta. Still smiling with warped delight. They casually pick up their crown among the flowers, and set it upon their head. “Take the little dancer back to his closet, will you?”

Sicheng does a little curtsy and turns, walking off the platform and stairs as the demon bows and escorts the human out of the throne room. He doesn’t look back, but he clenches his fist when he hears the wretched, fake Yuta sing out, “See you next year, Sichengie!”

As the demon and human walk past the bare floor onto a soft, carpeted one, Xiaojun sighs. He sounds genuinely concerned when they speak.

“Poor human. You just had to sell your soul for something as worthless as dancing. Do you regret it, looking back on it now?”

“It wasn’t worthless,” Sicheng grits out. He would not let himself be told such by anything like a demon. “It was my dream. And it was for my husband and I.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” The demon says, and the ravenet knows. He keeps his mouth shut, keeps his eyes on the paintings that decorate the walls. Walking back to his prison— his room, sorry— it’s a little funny; it’s as if the story of the Fallen Angel is happening in reverse. He wonders: how would that turn out? 

“How about you?” Instead, the Chinese man fires back. “Don’t you hate being a demon? Don’t you regret corrupting your soul?”

Xiaojun shrugs, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes, I think the job of being my master’s servant is too difficult. But I’m honored to have been given a chance to serve my lord, after all. They were my savior. They have given me everything I wanted and more.”

 _Same here_ , Sicheng bitterly thinks to himself. _I thought they were my savior too_.

“They took my life, you know,” The human says, shifting the topic. “Someone murdered me after a performance and I was immediately taken to Hell.”

“How do you know the master was involved?”

“It happened so… suddenly. One second, I was waiting for my husband to pick me up. He was in the front row, watching me. We were about to go out for dinner,” Sicheng lets out a shaky breath. “The next second, I’m watching myself bleeding out and a demon suddenly appears to escort me.”

“My lord did say your life would be cut short,” Xiaojun hums, and they’re both standing in front of Sicheng’s room; though really, it was more like a closet. More like a place to store a treasured doll. “By the way, I was also the one who escorted you here, back home.”

“Really? But they said their name was Yangyang—” The demon opens the door to reveal a room with wood covering the ceiling, the walls, the floor. A simple bed is fixed in one of the corners, and the yellow ball is laying there. Sicheng sees a smirk grow on Xiaojun’s lips. “Oh, you took his soul too.”

“It’s in the job,” Xiaojun giggles, and bows. “The master has decided to place a mini library for you to entertain yourself— it will appear once you wake up from your slumber. Goodnight, Sicheng-sshi.” 

The door closes, and a ‘click’ echoes throughout the room. The human runs a hand through his hair, and it gets caught on the marigold tucked behind his ear. He removes it and, after staring at it for a moment, balls his hand into a fist. 

He watches the yellow crumple, how a few of the petals flutter to the ground, and he throws it against the wall. It lands on the floor with a soft thump, wrinkled and crushed.

**Author's Note:**

> :^)
> 
> twitter: @starsnatched


End file.
